


constant vigilance

by shoebox_addict



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 17:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20313034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoebox_addict/pseuds/shoebox_addict
Summary: “Why, exactly, do you not sleep?”“I’ve told you, it’s simply a waste of time. There are too many books to be read.”“But why really? If it were just that, you’d have at least tried sleeping.”“I suppose it always seemed a bit foolish.”





	constant vigilance

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure and slightly pointless fluff. I just wanted to write something about Crowley comforting Aziraphale and helping him relax. Hope you enjoy!

It happened a few months after the apocalypse didn’t come. They were at Crowley’s flat because Crowley wanted to watch that show where people bake things, and Aziraphale was indulging him. He was not yet willing to entertain the idea of allowing a television into his bookshop, but he would sit with Crowley and sometimes make comments about whatever he was watching. He also always brought a book with him, but Crowley counted it as a win that Aziraphale was sitting in front of a television at all. 

A contestant with neon green hair was making a cake that looked like a book, and Crowley turned to point this out to Aziraphale, only to find the angel had fallen asleep. He’d let go of his book, which was now slowly sliding down his stomach, and his chin rested on his chest. He looked peaceful, at ease, and Crowley didn’t want to disturb him. But he knew that his bed would be far more comfortable than the couch. Plus, he thought this might be his chance to finally get Aziraphale to sleep properly. 

Aziraphale did not sleep, as he often reminded Crowley. As they’d begun spending more time together in the wake of failed armageddon, Crowley soon saw just how true this was. After some vigorous bedroom activity, Crowley enjoyed a quick (or not so quick) nap to refresh himself. As he dozed off, he would often see Aziraphale propping himself against the pillows with a book in hand. At the bookshop, even after enthusiastically drinking wine for hours, Aziraphale always remained alert as Crowley fell asleep against his shoulder. 

It wasn’t that Crowley wanted to force his human habits on Aziraphale, he simply thought the angel could use a good night’s sleep. 

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Angel, come to bed with me.”

“Mmph,” said Aziraphale, stirring slightly. “I really hate to break out this old chestnut, but I’m not in the mood.”

“I don’t mean _that,_” said Crowley, smirking. “I mean come and have a lie down. It’ll be much more comfortable to rest your eyes in bed. I’ve got a tartan blanket with your name on it. Not literally, of course, but you know what I mean.”

Aziraphale sighed and brought one hand up to his eyes. “No, I’m fine, really.” 

“Love, you’re two seconds away from snoring,” said Crowley.

Now Aziraphale was awake, looking horrified. “Was I snoring?”

Crowley smiled at him. “No, I just meant that you seem tired. So why don’t we go to the bedroom?”

“Don’t you want to finish your program?” said Aziraphale, gesturing toward the telly. “Oh, gosh. A cake shaped like a book? That’s rather extraordinary, where might we find one of those?”

Though he didn’t doubt Aziraphale’s excitement about the book cake, Crowley could tell that he was also trying to change the subject. This happened every time Crowley suggested that they sleep together -- as in, actually _sleep_ together. 

“We can watch this later if you’d like,” said Crowley, carding his fingers through Aziraphale’s soft hair. “I can make it come on any time -- Channel 4 is more than on demand for me. Demonic miracles and all that.”

“But it’s on now,” said Aziraphale. He was fighting the urge to lean into Crowley’s touch, to lean his head against his shoulder and let the demon stroke his hair. Crowley watched as he steeled himself and blinked hard, trying to banish his drowsiness. 

“Listen,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, my dear,” said Aziraphale, smiling at him. “Anything.”

“Why, exactly, do you not sleep?”

Aziraphale looked embarrassed by the question. He lifted his book from his stomach and closed it primly -- he never used bookmarks, he simply always remembered where he’d left off. Sort of like an angelic placeholder, as he’d once explained to Crowley. “I’ve told you, it’s simply a waste of time. There are too many books to be read.” 

“Uh-huh,” said Crowley, studying his face. “But why really? If it were just that, you’d have at least _tried_ sleeping.”

“I have tried it. I mean, you saw just now --” 

“I don’t mean cat naps, angel, or dozing off on the couch. I mean really, properly sleeping. What have you got against it?”

Aziraphale fidgeted, looking rather uncomfortable all of a sudden. Crowley sat patiently, not wanting to force an answer from him. Eventually he looked up at Crowley, lips pursed. “I suppose it always seemed a bit foolish.”

Crowley frowned. “Foolish, how?”

“What with...well, Gabriel and the others had a way of choosing the most inopportune times to visit,” said Aziraphale, hands twisting together. “They had no concept of time on earth, and they had no interest in learning either.”

Crowley tried his best to calm the boiling in his blood. The memory of Gabriel’s smug face as he told Aziraphale to ‘shut up and die’ was still fresh. He would never forget the cold cruelty of Heaven; whatever warmth he remembered from his time as an angel had disappeared. Now it was nothing but sterility and angels who blindly followed a bureaucratic system. He could only imagine what they thought of Aziraphale’s cluttered, homey bookshop. 

“I used to sleep,” said Aziraphale. “Here and there, not as much as you do. But Sandalphon popped in on me once when I was assigned to watch over Jesus, and I’d just laid my head down for a moment. This was before they employed strongly worded memos for such transgressions. After that, well, it didn’t seem prudent.”

“I see,” said Crowley, back teeth clenched together. 

“And certainly not in the last eleven years,” Aziraphale continued. “The Antichrist was just as important as Christ had been. Possibly more, goodness. Besides, we...well, you and I spent a lot of time together in the past few years. I was always worried they might be watching us.”

“I’m almost positive they were,” said Crowley, mouth set in a grimace. 

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “As I say, it just didn’t make sense to sleep.”

“Not since Jesus,” said Crowley, staring at the angel over his glasses. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “Didn’t want to risk it.”

Crowley stared at him, not knowing quite how to respond. For centuries he’d simply accepted the reality that Aziraphale didn’t enjoy sleeping. It was heartbreaking to think he’d been avoiding it all this time because he was on edge, expecting an inspection from upstairs. Aziraphale was smiling at him now, clearly trying to pass this off as Not a Big Deal. 

“I’m so sorry, angel,” said Crowley, shaking his head. 

“I...I just took it as part of the job,” said Aziraphale, shrugging as his smile melted. 

“Well, that’s bollocks. You’re not on their side anymore, you shouldn’t have to worry about that.”

“Shouldn’t I?” said Aziraphale, frowning now. “We think we’ve scared them off, but what if they’re just waiting until we’ve settled back into our routines? What if they’re still watching, waiting to come for us for real?”

“Well, Agnes’ prophecy --”

“That prophecy said nothing about the aftermath. It only gave us guidelines for how to handle the situation. Who knows what they might be planning next?

Aziraphale was breathing heavily, fingers clenched around the spine of his book. Crowley opened his arms to him. “C’mere, angel.”

Aziraphale went willingly, slotting into Crowley’s embrace and hugging the book to his own chest. Crowley held him close, heart breaking at the sound of his quickened breaths. He rubbed Aziraphale’s back, cheek pressed to the top of his head, until he calmed down. This had happened a few times since the not-apocalypse, this panicked spiralling, and it made Crowley wonder what the angel had done to calm himself when he wasn’t around. He preferred not to dwell on it.

“You’re right,” he said. “We don’t know if they’re planning anything. But we’re a united front now, and I would love to take a swing at Gabriel, let me tell you.”

Aziraphale chuckled nervously against his chest. “I would too, if I’m honest.”

Crowley smiled fondly and kissed the top of his head. “I don’t need to sleep right now. If you really don’t want to, I’m not going to force you. But if you feel like you need to rest, I’ll stay awake. You know, to keep watch.”

Aziraphale looked up at him. “Really?”

“Yes, of course!” said Crowley. “You seem tired, angel, and I don’t want you forcing yourself to stay awake.”

Aziraphale sighed and nuzzled against Crowley’s chest. “I’m not sure what it is about the telly, but it makes me rather tired.”

“I believe that’s a common response in people who don’t care about what their significant other is watching,” said Crowley, smirking at him. 

“I...I care,” said Aziraphale, dubiously. “It simply doesn’t grip my attention the way a good book does.”

“I know, and that’s perfectly fine,” said Crowley. “I don’t need to watch this right now. I can see it whenever I like. Shall we go to bed?”

Aziraphale chewed his lip nervously, and then nodded. “Yes, all right.”

Crowley kept his hands on Aziraphale’s back and moved them to his bedroom with barely a thought. He kissed Aziraphale gently, and then went rummaging in his dresser drawers. He’d been saving something for this moment, should it ever arrive. 

“You don’t _have_ to wear these,” he said. “But would you like to get more comfortable?”

Crowley turned around, offering the cream-colored tartan pyjamas to Aziraphale. He enjoyed the broad smile that spread across the angel’s face before he said, “I don’t know why you assume my clothes aren’t comfortable. Why would I wear them for so long if they weren’t? That being said...those do look rather soft.”

“_So_ soft,” said Crowley, handing the pyjamas to him. 

Aziraphale ran his fingertips along the tartan fabric and looked up at Crowley. With a wave of his hand, the angel’s usual uniform was replaced by the matching button-down shirt and soft trousers. He ran his hands down his chest, looking rather pleased with himself. Crowley wanted to bundle him up in a duvet and hide him away from the archangels. 

“This is lovely, you needn’t have done this,” said Aziraphale. 

“Nonsense,” said Crowley, waving his hand. “What else do you need to relax?”

Aziraphale stepped forward and cupped Crowley’s face in his hands. “Just you, my dear.”

Aziraphale had spent the night before, several times since the apocalypse. But their intentions when climbing into bed -- or, rather, tumbling into it, clutching at each other -- were different on those occasions. Now Crowley pulled back the duvet and gestured for Aziraphale to climb in. Once he’d shuffled into place, Crowley slid in beside him, settling the duvet around them. He turned on his side and reached out to touch Aziraphale’s arm. 

“How is this?” he asked. “Are you comfortable?”

Aziraphale nodded but said nothing. He slowly laid back against the pillow, shifting several times to find the right position. Then he sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to fall asleep now.”

“Then we can just lay here,” said Crowley, trying not to think about that awful song he’d taken credit for in the early 2000s. In truth, it had been all the humans’ doing, but it had been an easy one to snag for himself. “There’s no pressure.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond, just kept his eyes shut. Crowley stroked his arm, hoping that it was a comforting gesture, and watched as Aziraphale tried to fall asleep. He didn’t seem overly agitated anymore, but he wasn’t exactly relaxed either. Crowley saw the way he twisted his fingers together, the way he shifted on the bed as though searching for a better spot. Eventually he opened his eyes again and turned to look at Crowley. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m not as good as you are at this sleeping business. I’m so tired, but I can’t seem to fall asleep.”

“It happens sometimes,” said Crowley. “Happens to humans all the time. Hell, it even happens to me now and again. Listen, why don’t we try something different? C’mere.”

Crowley sat up against the headboard and gestured for Aziraphale to scoot closer, to lean back against him. Crowley wrapped one arm across Aziraphale’s chest and brought his other hand up to stroke the angel’s hair. Aziraphale seemed skeptical at first, but after a few moments he melted against Crowley and made a soft noise at the back of his throat. 

“Goodness,” he hummed. “This is rather lovely.”

Crowley smiled and scratched his nails gently against Aziraphale’s chest. “Thought you might like this. Just don’t get too amorous, this is about relaxation.”

“It’s rather difficult not to feel amorous around you, my dear,” said Aziraphale. “But yes, this is helping…”

The angel trailed off into a yawn, something that Crowley didn’t think he’d ever seen him do before. He rubbed gently at Aziraphale’s scalp, making little circles with his fingertips. Aziraphale’s eyes drifted shut, a content smile on his face. Crowley glanced down at him, thinking that not even the show about baking could compete with this. He thought he could spend quite a long time here, just like this, holding Aziraphale close and quietly plotting how best to dismantle Gabriel’s corporeal being. 

It took the better part of an hour, but eventually Aziraphale fell asleep. Crowley stopped stroking his hair and simply listened to the slow, even sounds of the angel’s breathing. He congratulated himself on getting Aziraphale to rest but soon realized the difficult position in which he’d put himself. It was very, _very_ challenging to stay awake when you had a sleepy angel on top of you. It would have been oh-so easy to let the steady up and down of Aziraphale’s chest lull him to sleep. But he’d promised Aziraphale, so he forced himself to remain alert. 

One day, perhaps, their worries would truly be gone. Then, he thought, the two of them could sleep together like this, pressed close and cocooned in a drowsy peace.


End file.
